


Mother

by psychicfiredemoness



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Abusive Parents, Domestic Violence, Protective Siblings, Self-Esteem Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychicfiredemoness/pseuds/psychicfiredemoness
Summary: Piers receives an unexpected and unwelcome visitor.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Mother

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my hot take on the Spikemuth Siblings' family history. It did not turn out pretty.  
> I hope I tagged this correctly, I don't want to trigger anyone or make them uncomfortable. I don't think it turned out super graphic but I don't want to assume anything as I haven't written this type of story before. Please let me know if it requires additional tags I may have missed.

The warm, stuffy air of Spikemuth was a welcome relief to the biting cold blowing in from Circhester Bay. Piers took in a deep breath of his hometown as he stepped through its gate. He had been gone only a few days but it felt like ages since he had last walked the narrow streets towards his apartment.

The packed stadium full of screaming fans in Wyndon had been the perfect way to kick off his retirement from the League. The buzz of energy he had been riding since the show had long since faded and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his own bed. He knew he could get in at least a few hours before Marnie came home. She had been spending an _awful_ lot of nights in Postwick lately, and the blush on her face whenever he brought it up was a source of endless delight. However, any thoughts of teasing died when he reached the door of his apartment; the doorjamb was splintered around the strike plate, the cheap door hanging ajar in its frame.

Cold dread settled over him as he stood outside his home. It wouldn’t be the first time they had been robbed, and of course it was his luck. Though it had been ages since the first time, he had never gotten over the fear that the burglar might be on the other side and what they might do when caught in the act. He took small comfort in the fact that his sister was miles away and that he owned nothing necessarily valuable. Hand falling to Obstagoon’s ball, he pushed the door open and snuck inside.

Pots and pans clattered noisily in the kitchen, the thief undoubtedly looking for some hidden valuables that didn’t exist. As he drew closer, knuckles turning white under his grip, he could hear the gentle hum of a familiar tune. With frightening clarity, he knew who had broken in, but he couldn’t even begin to understand why.

Piers stepped around the hall and stared into the kitchenette. A dark-haired woman was on her toes and busily rooting around the cabinets, pushing dishes and boxes aside in her search. A Heracross chittered beside her at the sudden intrusion. His throat tightened at the sight of the creature and his hand quickly moved away from Obstagoon and over to Toxtricity.

“I’d have thought a proper pop star like you could afford something better than this,” his mother said in a slow, practiced way that hid her natural accent as she turned to face him; in her hand was a tin of tea. “I guess music isn’t paying what it used to.”

“Hello, mum,” he greeted waveringly. Thousands of people watching and his voice never faltered, but faced with this woman he was like a stuttering teenager. He wanted to run.

“That’s all you have to say to me after all this time?” She asked setting the tin down and starting up the kettle. “How many years has it been?”

His eyes darted from her to the menacing bug at her side. She had been a trainer once but he had no idea if she had picked it up again after she had left. It could have been a bluff, just a show to keep him on edge like before–

“Piers.” There was an edge to her voice now. “I asked you a question.”

“Dunno,” he answered at once. His mind desperately searched for the answer. “Maybe ten?” Of course the truth wouldn’t please her, it never had.

“Ten,” she repeated scooping tea into the pot with a frown. “What kind of mother would I be to abandon my precious, talented child for _ten_ years? I didn’t think I had raised a liar.”

She hadn’t raised them at all, he thought bitterly though he knew better than to say it. “Three?” He supplied in hopes of placating her.

She seemed to accept the lie and continued preparing the tea, pouring water into the pot and letting it steep before pouring herself a cup. His mother winced at the flavor and swirled the tea as if it would help the taste, or to put off drinking it. Piers used the weighty silence to really look at her, the first time in years.

He had the vague recollections of her from his childhood, only a few photos of her locked away at the bottom of a drawer and that’s where he preferred them. She looked like she had been doing well for herself. What he assumed was a fashionable dress clung to her slight frame– mercifully the only thing he had ever inherited from her –and finely manicured nails tapped against the cracked teacup in her hands. She had always preferred the finer things, even when they hadn’t been able to afford them. Looking back, the small, shining star that had been his dad had probably been all that had kept her around. But when he chose his kids over his career, she had been quick enough to leave.

“And what of your father?” She broke the uneasy silence with only the slightest interest.

“He passed.”

“Such a shame.” Her voice held all the sorrow of someone that had misplaced a penny. “He was such a handsome man, your father, and talented. He could have made something of himself if he had been willing to make the tough decisions.”

“Like leaving his kids?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. For all the world he wished he could take them back as his mother’s dark eyes filled with rage.

When he had been much younger, and much more foolish, he had told himself over and over that she loved him and Marnie. As time wore on, he learned that it simply wasn’t true; he wasn’t sure she was even capable of something as simple as affection. It hadn’t stopped him from trying everything he could think of to capture her attention. Studies, pokémon battles, singing, anything that could prove he was worth her love. Then one day she hadn’t come home. Piers had screamed and cried and known that it had been his fault, that he hadn’t been enough to keep her in their lives despite his father’s gentle assurances that it was no one’s fault. And then a couple harsh winters later he too was gone, leaving Piers the soul caretaker for a seven-year-old Marnie.

“What’d ya say to me ya little shite?” There was the accent he remembered, and the anger. _That_ was the mother he knew.

She crossed the room in only a few strides and Piers pressed himself against the wall as cold fear numbed his tongue. The last time he had seen her she had towered over him. Now, even a head shorter than her son, she seemed the most imposing figure in the world.

She smiled coldly at him, pausing only to slip back into her posh, practiced words. “I come all the way back to this rubbish heap to congratulate my _darling_ son on his flourishing career and _this_ is how you treat me, _your mother_?” The words sank in and he finally realized why she was there. “You’d best apologize, you worthless tosser.”

He floundered for words, trying to get something, anything, to come out. If he didn’t say something he knew–

_WHAP!_

Too late.

She slapped him so violently that it left his head knocking against the drywall. Tears threatened his eyes and he wished he could wake up from this nightmare. It was his fault she was there. He should have just stayed in Spikemuth, quietly kept at his music and avoided the spotlight as he cheered his sister on instead. It hadn’t been like he wanted the celebrity that came with his career yet here he was reaping the consequences of it.

She struck him again when he still didn’t answer.

“Are you _crying_? What are you, some kind of poff?” She snarled at him. “Poor little Piers playing the victim like he always does.”

He couldn’t understand how her words stung so badly after all this time. Maybe he could minimize this, subdue her rage by doing what she wanted. She had always gotten her way before, why should now be any different?

“I-I… Sorry, mum,” he managed through ragged breaths.

Her lips twisted into a grin. “What are you sorry for?”

He was sorry for so much. Not having stronger locks, for one. And for staying in the apartment he’d grown up in; it would have made them so much easier to find anytime she decided to hunt him or Marnie down.

He was sorry that he still allowed her to affect him like this, like he was still the little boy that wanted to hide under the bed with his Zigazagoon until the screaming and hitting and crashing stopped. He was sorry he had failed as a Leader and let his home turn to ruin. He was sorry he had left the gym and forced it on Marnie while he pursued his own dreams. He was sorry that he had succeeded, and that it had brought her back because now he was actually worth something.

“Piers,” his mother cooed icily as she reached out and sunk her fingers into his thick bangs. She shook him around to test her grip like she had so many times before. Her voice turned lilting and saccharine as her lips turned ever upwards, teeth bared in a grin. “What are you sorry _for_?”

“Everything,” he hiccupped quietly. “I’m sorry for everything, mum.”

“ _Everything_?” She parroted, rocking his head back and forth in her tight grip with every word. “Are you sorry for crying, _darling_? It’s so unbecoming of a man.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sorry that you’ll never amount to anything?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Are you sorry that _my_ life had to be ruined just to bring you into it, Piers?”

He bit back a sob knowing it would just make things worse; she was giddy with rage and god only knew what she would do if he stopped the appeasements. Just as he readied the poisonous words another voice broke the still air.

“Oi, Piers, what’d you do to the door–The ‘ell is _she_ doin’ here?!” Marnie screeched the moment she swung the door open and bore witness to the demon that had snuck inside.

His sister was the capable one, sending her Grimmsnarl out in a flash. The hulking fairy launching himself down the hall and battered their mother’s pokémon out of the way before it could hope to counter. With a yelp their mother let him go and jumped backwards towards the kitchenette.

“And where have you been? Staying out all night?” The woman scoffed. Her dark eyes fell back on her son. “Don’t ruin your life like I did.”

Marnie bristled beside her brother. He admired her rage and wished he had the strength to find some of his own; he barely had the strength to stand, slipping to the floor.

“Get out of our home!” Marnie roared.

“It’s _my_ home as much as yours–”

Without a command, Grimmsnarl charged forward and grabbed the woman, tangling his thick hair around her as she fought his grip. The Heracross buzzed around nervously but made no move to protect the woman as the dark-type dragged her through the apartment and threw her out into the hall. She stumbled to her feet, curses spewing from her lips as her frightened pokémon fluttered to her side. Grimmsnarl slammed the ruined door in their faces, one of the hinges breaking free. He pressed his hulking body against it as the screaming woman pounded on the other side. Silence fell over the apartment a few minutes later, angry footsteps retreating down the hall.

“We don’t need her,” Marnie sniffled as she slumped beside her brother and wrapped him in her arms, burying her face in his shoulder. “We never needed her.”

She was right.

Piers covered his face with his hand to hide the wetness clinging to his cheeks. “I know.”

Marnie lifted her face from his coat, her own eyes damp as she looked at her brother. “Don’t listen to her, bro. She’s right mad thinkin’ her life got ruined. You’re the best thing she ever did.”

He let out a watery chuckle, his hand falling away as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I dunno,” he told her, “you’re not so bad.”


End file.
